


Legs to the Wall

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Incest, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the part where Mikey can really get into the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legs to the Wall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alpheratz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpheratz/gifts).



Mikey pulls into the parking lot and drives up and down the rows, sighing under his breath. Gerard really commits to a role, right up to renting a car because the guy he is tonight wouldn't drive either his Trans Am or his Prius. It makes it more challenging for Mikey to be sure he has the right place.

He finally spots the tell-tale bobblehead on the dashboard of a red Focus. He parks a few spaces down and gets out of the car, checking his reflection in the window. He buzzed the blond out of his hair two weeks ago, and the brunet that's left has grown out just past a crew cut. He's wearing a button-up black work shirt and baggy jeans. Gerard's request was for badass and kind of butch. Mikey isn't sure if he hit the target, but he has to get points for trying.

More or less satisfied that he looks the part, he turns to face the building. It's a Holiday Inn; not fancy, not sleazy, and it shares the lot with a restaurant with a bar. Those are the minimum requirements; fancy is risky, Mikey is not risking bedbugs for the thrill of sleazy, and the critical part that makes it a game requires a bar.

He walks across the lot to the restaurant and goes inside, blinking against the onslaught of lights and March Madness on the TVs. He finds Gerard right away, sitting at the bar, his feet hooked around the legs of his stool. He's staring up at one of the ESPN commentators, eyes wide, lips parted. He's got a tall glass in front of him, full of something clear with a swizzle stick poking out, piercing a cherry.

The hostess is smiling at Mikey, which makes it impossible for him to bang his head against the doorframe until that stops being ridiculous. A _cherry_. Gerard goes above and beyond in committing to his roles.

He gives the girl a quick smile, instead. "Just going to sit at the bar. Thank you."

He sits three stools down from Gerard, careful not to look directly at him, and orders a Miller Lite and a plate of cheese fries. He keeps his eyes fixed on the screen until his food arrives, watching Somewhere State chase the University of Whatever up and down the court. Basketball is not his game, but he's pretty sure the guy he is tonight would linger on the game for a while before he paid any attention to the cutie with the cherry.

God, he can hardly keep a straight face even thinking this shit. He's so bad at playing a character. But Gerard loves it.

He hears the rasp of Gerard sucking water from between his ice cubes. "Another Sprite and cherry?" the bartender asks in a carefully neutral voice.

"Please," Gerard answers. Mikey rolls the neck of his beer bottle between his fingers. He can feel Gerard's stare boring into the side of his head. He counts to ten, takes another sip, and then cuts a glance down the length of the bar.

Gerard smiles at him, showing a lot of teeth. "Excuse me."

Mikey picks up a fry and takes a bite, chewing and swallowing before he answers. "Yeah?"

"Could I by any chance bum a smoke?"

"No smoking in here," the bartender interjects, shoving Gerard's drink in front of him.

Gerard stares at him for a minute, eyes narrowing, then recovers and smiles at Mikey again. "Could I by any chance bum a smoke that I can _take outside_?"

The bartender stares at Mikey as well, and he fights the urge to laugh as he digs around in the back pocket of his jeans. He's playing the role of a burly dude in some sort of vaguely-defined but stereotypically masculine profession, and he came prepared. He has cigarettes, of the Marlboro variety, and he has a lighter, of the Bic variety. "Sure."

Gerard takes the lighter and a single cigarette, positioning it deftly between his fingers. "Thanks."

"No problem."

Gerard stands there for a moment, fidgeting the cigarette between his knuckles. "You could come outside with me," he says finally. "Watch me smoke it."

The bartender is openly gawking at them now. Mikey gulps down the rest of his beer and drops some cash on the bar. "Okay. Sure."

"I'll smoke it for you."

"I get it." Mikey grabs Gerard by the shoulder and steers him out of the restaurant. "That guy thinks you're a hooker."

"He does not."

"He thinks you are a very _bad_ hooker. Do you have the room key?" Gerard fishes it out of his pocket and holds it up with a glare. Mikey takes it and glances over at the hotel. "Smoke fast."

**

This is the part where Mikey can really get into the game. He's not good at the part where he has to act and pretend and think like a character. The part where lets go and his role narrows down to _guy who wants to fuck Gerard and intends to take what he wants_...he's pretty good at that.

The door to their room clicks open and he pushes Gerard inside, curving his hands around Gerard's biceps and steering him easily. He has the twin advantages of height and hands that have been stretched and broadened and shaped by playing the bass for ten years. Gerard goes where Mikey puts him.

"Save something for the foreplay," Gerard drawls. Mikey ignores him, sliding his hands down to catch Gerard's wrists and bring them to the small of his back. Gerard doesn't struggle; in fact, he sighs, tilting his head back like he's offering his mouth for a kiss. Mikey doesn't take it.

Instead, he pushes Gerard the rest of the way across the room, lengthening his strides faster than Gerard can catch on, so that he stumbles and falls forward onto the bed. Mikey keeps his wrists pinned with one hand, bringing the other up to cup the back of Gerard's head, fingers tangling in his hair, rubbing his face down into the mattress. "Shut up," he says, his voice caught in its lower register, grinding out of his throat.

Gerard doesn't have much choice but to obey, given that he's breathing mattress. He goes limp, his whole body just giving up, surrendering. It would be hot, except Mikey isn't ready yet.

He pulls Gerard's head up by his hair, twisting the fresh-dyed black strands around his fingers cruelly. "You want this?" he asks, and when all he gets is a furrowed brow and pouty lower lip, he slaps Gerard's face. Not hard. Just enough to bring a sharp red flush to the skin. "You want me to fuck you?"

Gerard turns his head _into_ the hit, his mouth opening and his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Mikey slaps him again and Gerard drops to his knees, barely giving Mikey enough warning to loosen his fingers and let Gerard's hair run through them on his way down. Gerard's hands are grabbing at Mikey's thighs, sliding up and down from groin to knee, fumbling at the denim and then at his zipper. Mikey almost loses his balance before he manages to get hold of Gerard's hair again and pull hard enough to make Gerard look him in the eye.

"No," he says, and Gerard scowls. "I'm going to fuck you. If I wanted you to suck me, I would've said so."

Gerard gets off on struggling, and it's a sweet kind of rush to Mikey, being able to commit himself whole-heartedly into taking him down. He's forcing Gerard to the floor and it really is _forcing_ , because Gerard is doing his level best to kick him in the chin and leave bite marks on his shoulder right through his shirt. The final deciding factor is when he knees Gerard in the junk--there's a yelp and then a raw moan and the fight just goes out of him, leaving him limp and placid again, easy for Mikey to flip over so he's face-down on the carpet with his hands pinned underneath him.

Gerard turns his head to the side and takes a rough, gasping break when Mikey yanks his jeans and boxer-briefs down off his hips. "Ow."

"Don't talk," Mikey says, slapping the pale curve of Gerard's ass hard enough to earn another yelp.

"I fucking bit my tongue."

Mikey looks up at him, trying to gauge if that's an actual request to stop or not. Gerard's frowning, mouth working as he plays with his tongue against his teeth. Then he arches up, pushing his ass back against Mikey's hand, and that's a good enough sign as far as Mikey's concerned.

He pinches Gerard's ass, fumbling his own jeans open with his other hand. "You don't need to use your tongue."

"How hard are you gonna fuck me?" Gerard's voice is breathless and thin, his attention already two steps ahead and going into trying to get his legs further apart with his jeans still only halfway down his thighs. Mikey should call him on it, make him apologize and beg, but watching him squirm and fight his own fucking clothes is making Mikey's stomach tighten and his dick twitch. He'll let Gerard have that one on points.

"As hard as you can take it." That's supposed to be a threat, but it comes out more like a promise, throaty and hot. He gets the condom out of his pocket and tears the packet open with his teeth, his dick jerking again when he sees Gerard react to the sound. Just the _sound_ , making his hips thrust and his skin flush deeper like that. Jesus. Gerard.

He gets the condom on and presses the head against Gerard's opening. It's a pre-lubed condom and Gerard's done this, they've done this, enough that he can relax his muscles and let Mikey move into him, only gasping a little at the stretch of skin. Mikey keeps thrusting, burying himself deep, blood rushing in his ears and his chest and his head until he can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything except try to get deeper inside, to feel more. He feels like he's tearing himself apart, splitting himself open instead of Gerard, baring too much of himself to the cold air of the hotel room. Too many things he wants, needs, craves like air and water. This. He needs this, more than he should, more than anybody should need anything.

"Mikey," Gerard gasps, his voice raw and shot, the words broken up by sharp gasps for air. "Fuck, Mikey. Don't stop. Don't fucking...god, Mikey. More."

Mikey isn't totally sure that he has more to give. He tries, though, snapping his hips as hard as he can, thrusting into Gerard hard enough that his body moves forward across the carpet. He hears Gerard's sharply-indrawn breath, through clenched teeth, and a distant part of his brain figures he'll be soothing rugburns later. Not much later, maybe ten minutes, he can't possibly keep up this pace.

Gerard's voice rises up to a whine, helpless and lost, and Mikey realizes that Gerard's close to coming, that all his writhing and humping and moaning has been him actually getting himself off, probably rugburning his dick in the process, and that he is about to come all over the hotel carpet. That is disgusting. It's also hot enough that he loses control of himself before the next thrust, his orgasm hitting him while he's only half-inside.

He pulls out and fumbles with the condom while Gerard slumps down to the floor, flushed and sweaty and apparently pretty happy with himself. Mikey half-crawls up behind him again and smacks him twice across the ass, flat-handed. "You motherfucker."

"Fuck you," Gerard mumbles, burying his face in his arms. "Holy shit."

"All over the fucking floor."

"Bet this place has seen worse." 

Mikey kind of wants to challenge that theory, but more than that, he wants to sleep. He kind of thinks he might have sprained some important internal organs with that fuck. "Bed?"

"Can't move. Just gonna lie here. 's cool."

"No." Mikey sighs and stands up, bending to catch Gerard under the arms and haul him flailing up onto the bed. "Everything okay? Nothing sore?"

"You couldn't kick my ass when we played Smackdown and you can't kick my ass now." Gerard gathers up all of the pillows and buries his face in them. "'m fine."

Mikey lies down next to him and stretches slowly, licking the sweat-salt from his lips and trying not to shiver as he becomes aware of the cold air on his damp skin. "What the fuck was the business with the cherries, anyway?"

Gerard shrugs, still facedown in half the bedding. "Like cherries."

Mikey rolls his eyes, then smiles, since Gerard can't see him anyway, and presses a kiss between his brother's shoulder blades. "You're such a tool."

"No pillow for you, then, asshole."

Mikey doesn't bother to answer that one. They both know he's going to use Gerard's back as a pillow anyway. He sleeps best that way.


End file.
